Spending some thoughtful time with an acorn.
(Image description: A photo of two acorns on a thin tree branch. The acorn in the forefront in brown-colored, while the other one is green-colored. Oak leaves are seen in the background.) Credit: Photo by Juliet Sarmiento on Unsplash
Autumn finally feels like it’s on its way here! The temperatures are dropping, and some leaves are displaying shades of red and gold. The region has been in a drought, but rain is starting to bring some relief.
Closer to home, the oak tree is dropping its acorns. It has been a while since I checked in with it, and the changing of the seasons seemed like a good time to connect with it.
Lectio divina, as discussed in Polytheistic Monasticism: Voices from Pagan Cloisters, was the method I used with the acorn. I’m not as familiar with this method as I’d like to be, but it’s better to start somewhere than nowhere.
I set a timer for twenty minutes, dedicating roughly five minutes to each step in the meditation.
For the first part, I merely held the acorn in my hand. I tried my best to not think about anything in regard to the acorn or anything else, and I mostly succeeded.
With the next part, I took the time to take in the acorn’s details. The cap was somewhat rough, resembling scales. The shell was smooth to the touch, creating an interesting contrast between the two surfaces. The pointed end on the bottom of the acorn was sharp, like a tiny spear tip. The nut had an earthy scent, with a faint sharpness to it.
The contrasting textures made me think of Brighid’s different natures, seemingly opposite yet part of a whole.
I had pulled the Oak card before doing the meditation and followed the prompt. I envisioned the tree growing out of the acorn, its limbs strong and inflexible. One of the branches broke because of this trait. Between the card and the focus, the lesson was endure to grow strong, but not so much that you become vulnerable from being too regimented.
Its lesson is relevant for me, as I have a tendency to want control over things I can’t control. However, mutability has its own value. Change can happen slowly, as the oak leaves take their time to change colors. The tree adapts as much as it can to the conditions it’s given. Such is life, and it’s wiser to keep the lesson in mind rather than choose to deny its teachings.
For a few more minutes, I again sat with the acorn in my hand, musing over its insights. When I was done, I thanked it and returned it to its place on the altar.
I was given a surprising amount of insights in a relatively short time, unlike what I had previously experienced from the oak tree. Perhaps focusing on a small portion instead of the entire tree is easier, as it allowed me to listen more directly to its voice.
Question for contemplation: What can you learn from the small aspects of nature?
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